Schism
by TSOHG A MA I
Summary: Navigating the world of Thedas is not for the faint of heart—much less for a recovering diabetic with a debilitating fear of spiders and her surly cousin who was always more into Dark Souls than Dragon Age. Expect a language barrier (with a twist), various Fade Shenanigans, and complete demolishing of canon...just to start.
1. In The Woods Somewhere

**SCHISM**

**Schism** /ˈs(k)izəm/ noun. a split or division between strongly opposed sections or parties, caused by differences in opinion or belief.

* * *

**Chapter One: In the Woods Somewhere**

(Chapter Soundtrack: _24/7_ by The Neighborhood; _In the Woods Somewhere_ by Hozier; _Ocean Floor/This is The Time (Ballast)_ by Nothing More)

All but falling out the front door in her escape, Sola took in a deep breath of the crispy fresh air.

Well, not so fresh, actually. She looked over to see one of the chairs on the front porch already occupied by her cousin, Jerome, leaning back on its legs and letting out a stream of smoke from his e-cigarette through his nose.

"Finally snuck away, did you?" He looked over at her indolently.

Sola returned his perusal warily with a slight nod, shivering into her over-sized hoodie. She eyed the chair next to him and looked back towards the front door—behind which raised voices started growing even louder—and weighed her options. It was chilly out, but Jerome had lit the brazier and at least it was quiet out here… She eyed the empty chair again. The non-expression on Jerome's face wasn't anything she'd call welcoming, but it wasn't hostile either, which was more than she could say for anyone inside the house, so Sola thought she would take her chances.

She carefully folded herself into the seat, knees pulled up to her chin, and sighed when a wave of warmth from the brazier washed over her. She was brave enough to poke her long, thin fingers out of her overlong sleeves, holding them out to the warmth of the flames. It still felt strange to see them this way. She was used to the swollen sausages they used to be.

Evidently, with his lazy eyes still fixed on her, Jerome felt the same way.

"You look different," he finally said, taking another puff of his e-cig. "Good. How long has it been since the surgery?"

"Ah…um, a year or so," Sola answered, counting her toes; she was missing the pinkies on each foot.

"Hm," he grunted, letting out the smoke and looking out at the trees that surrounded their grandmother's property. "And how long has it been since we last saw each other?"

Sola shrugged.

"Longer?"

Jerome nodded absently.

"Longer."

There was once a time when Jerome and Sola were inseparable.

But that was a long time ago.

They were different now.

"What are they arguing about now?" Jerome asked, irritation lacing his voice when the voices inside reached a hollering pitch.

"Politics…" Sola sighed, picking at the chipped polish on her big toe. She was just happy it wasn't _her_ on the firing squad this year. She thought it better to stay under everyone's radar, just as well. Drawing attention to herself was the last thing she needed around their less-than-loving family members.

"Figures. Merry-fucking-Christmas, right?" Jerome sneered, taking a swig from the half-gone bottle of Corona at his side. He considered it a moment before offering some to Sola, who demurred with a shake of her head.

"I'm more of a wine person…" Actually, she was more of a tea person since her surgery, but she didn't exactly advertise that. The only reason there was any alcohol in the house at all was because her grandmother had sent her to the store ahead of time, anticipating the influx of imbibing guests. She tried to refuse, because the alcohol just made everyone more vindictive than usual, but her grandmother wouldn't have it…

Jerome snorted at her, "Snob," and downed the rest of the bottle with a roguish smirk.

Sola would be offended, but he was clearly teasing her, and it hit a familiar, nostalgic spot; she laughed at herself instead. There was so much estrangement and ugly history between the two of them that Sola was desperate to reach for any sort of olive branch he'd extend—even the ghost of one. She longed for the ease of familial comradery like a drowning man longed for land. She'd forget all her grievances, if only…if only…

She shook her head at her train of thought and reached below the table between them for the hidden mini fridge. She handed Jerome another Corona and offered a smile. It might not have been an olive branch, but…

He traded her for the empty and clinked the two together. "Cheers."

"Cheers." She clinked back, then tossed it in the bin with a clatter.

"Merry-fucking-Christmas," Jerome said again.

"Yeah…" Sola agreed, shrinking a little into the cushions of her seat as the voices inside pitched higher.

"How's school going?" Jerome asked her over the shouting. "You're still doing school, right?"

"Yeah," Sola said, encouraged by his interest. "It's…going. Slowly but…how about you? I heard Aunt Sera said something to Gammy over the phone about you registering for the semester since your tour is over."

"Yup," he said, sounding a bit terse, and not at all enthusiastic. He rubbed an idle hand over the short, scruffy shadow on his jaw, looking deep in thought.

Sola frowned thoughtfully. "Do you miss Japan?"

"Sometimes," he said, staring up at the moon through the clouds. When he let out a sigh, it sounded disgusted enough to shock Sola. "It's this fucking country, I swear to god… All this bitching and moaning over the guns, the dumbass president, Democrats, Republicans, school loans. Sometimes, I just want to pick up and leave, you know?"

"Hey, you just got out of the Marines, so at least you know you're not getting shafted by the healthcare system just yet," Sola tried joking, but it was a weak attempt, and she sighed. "But yeah…I know what you mean."

And in a way, she truly did.

"It's not all bad though," she tried to cheer him up. "Now that you're a veteran, there's a whole bunch of stuff you can do to help pay for school. And since you've already got so much training under your belt, there's plenty of people who will hire you right off the bat—"

"I don't even know if I want to go to school," he said, taking another drag on his e-cig.

"It's…not for everyone, that's for sure," Sola agreed, ruminating over her own troubles as a student. Her mind was sharp as anything—her mother had made sure of that—but she'd never been a deft hand at playing the academic game. And it was hard, trying to reconcile her dreams as a musician with practicality. There was no true compromise, really. Sola didn't know what Aunt Sera would think of Jerome's doubts, but she sensed another family cataclysm on the horizon. "But still, even without a degree, like I said, there's plenty of jobs that will…" She trailed off at Jerome's growing sneer, and guessed, "…But you don't want a normal job."

He looked at her in surprise for a second at the sudden insight, then looked back up at the moon.

"I don't know what I want…"

"Well," Sola said, trying to smile. "That makes two of us then."

Jerome sighed. "Do you ever feel like you were born in the wrong century?"

"Jer," she said, laughing a little, "I've felt like that since I was six and found out knights in shining armor don't actually exist anymore outside of renaissance festivals. And you know I wanted to be a wizard when I grew up, right?"

"You always did have your head stuck in the clouds…" He snorted at her with a half-derisive smirk. And Sola couldn't disagree, because she'd been told the same thing all her life. "Never mind. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"_So_ many things," Sola teased, gesturing with a nod towards the snarling voices behind the front door. "I hear it runs in the family."

Jerome barked out a mirthless laugh, taking another chug from his bottle.

"On that note, have you heard anything from your mom lately?"

Sola shook her head grimly.

"She's gone radio silent since last year. No one knows where she is," she said, merely resigned at this point. "Last we heard from her she was somewhere in Iceland. And of course, she refuses to use any sort of modern communication outside of postcards…"

It wasn't like she kept every last one of them, or anything…

She pulled her knees closer to her chest and sighed.

"That's rough, Sunny," Jerome said.

"Yeah…" Sola said, wincing at the childhood nickname. "You know…lately, Gammy's been telling me a lot of old stories—about when my mom was younger. How she was this certain kind of person—the kind of person who just lets things happen to her—and then one day, it was like she just…_changed_. Completely. Like, overnight. One-eighty. And it turns out, her boyfriend at the time—you know, the one that used to beat her up?"

Jerome scowled. "Yeah. I remember."

One of the things they had in common as kids—shitty dads.

"Well, turns out, I tracked him down, and—"

"—You _what_—"

Jerome's seat toppled onto all fours as he leaned forward in alarm.

"—he's not actually my dad."

Jerome's e-cig actually fell out of his mouth as his jaw went slack.

"_Whoa_…"

"Yeah…" Sola said, picking at her toenail polish again, frowning. "I didn't tell Gammy about it, but…"

"Wait. You went to see some guy who used to beat up your mom, and you didn't _tell anyone about it_?" Jerome hissed at her, more disgruntled than Sola anticipated.

"Not _him._ Do you really think I'm that stupid?" She sent him an offended look, even as she shrunk away from his unexpected ire. Where did _that_ come from? "Anyway, he's _dead._ Died years ago," she said. "I talked to his twin brother—he's normal. Super nice, even. He told me a lot too. Said Chuck went absolutely _nuts_ after my mom left him. Kept raving about witchcraft and the antichrist—whatever _that's_ all about." Sola rolled her eyes. "But anyway, get this: Chuck and Dave were _identical_ twins—same DNA—crazy, right? And Dave was nice enough to do a paternity test with me."

"And it came back negative?" Jerome was leaning forward with both elbows on his knees, eyes alight with interest.

"It came back negative," Sola nodded. "I have no _clue_ who my dad is."

"I swear, your whole life is like a fucking soap opera…" Jerome shook his head slowly.

"It's really _not,"_ Sola tried to insist.

The most exciting thing to happen to her in the last six months was finding a spider in her sock and summarily hurling it out the window. She'd almost given her grandmother a heart attack when she screamed bloody murder. And she _still_ hadn't found that sock.

Suddenly, Jerome choked on a laugh.

"You know," he said with a snort, "with your luck, you might actually turn out to be the antichrist."

"Oh, _thanks,"_ Sola said with a scathing amount of sarcasm.

"Should we check for sixes on the back of your head?"

"Touch my hair and _die,_ you slime ball."

A good deal of it had fallen out after she had her surgery. Great, big tumbleweeds of dark, human hair billowed along the floor of her room for weeks afterwards. She'd broken down a few times over it, because there was just _so much_—a truly distressing amount. She had to explain the situation to a concerned hairdresser in tears when she had it cut boyishly short to reduce the amount of vacuuming she had to do. Afterwards, she had taken up knitting, getting into the habit of wearing a colorful assortment of hand-made caps to hide the patchy spots. But with proper vitamin supplements and tender care, she had finally gotten back the thick, unmanageable mane she knew and loved. She couldn't help the amused grin tugging at her cheeks when Jerome laughed at her though, even as she turned her face away to hide it. She still had her pride, after all.

Jerome's laughter tapered off abruptly when a sound speared through the night. It was faint, yet distinct, separate from the angry, muted voices coming from indoors. He and Sola listened intently, exchanging wary looks, as the broken cry filled the air from somewhere off in the trees, a haunting echo. Jerome straightened, pocketing his e-cig and staring intently into the burgeoning dark between the trunks.

"…Is that normal?" he asked her, his voice tight.

Sola shook her head, steel-grey eyes wide. The hair on her arms stood up, even underneath her fleece-lined hoodie, insides locked with tension. The cousins were still, listening, until the sound rung out again.

And with that, Jerome marched down the front steps.

"Jer?" Sola bolted up. "Jerome Bright, you're not actually thinking of going out—oh, _fuck me,_ he is." She took off after him reaching for the sleeve of his leather jacket. "Jerome, you _can't—"_

He slapped her hand away like a gnat. His aqua-blue glare flashed sharply at her in the light of the pale moon.

"The hell I can't. You don't tell me what to do," he snarled. "Someone could need help!"

Holding her hand against her chest, Sola gave him a abjectly sullen look.

"I was going to suggest getting a flashlight," she muttered dryly, _"asshole…"_

Sending her a derisive smile, Jerome extracted something from his pocket and clicked on a LED light. It looked like some kind of military surplus multi-tool. _Fancy,_ Sola thought.

"Satisfied?"

Sola frowned at him as he turned, but scampered after, regardless.

"Could've at least waited for me to grab my boots first, jerk…" she grumbled unhappily as the icy-cold damp from the ground seeped between her toes, making her cringe. "You know, this is like the beginning of every B-grade horror movie we've ever seen, right?"

"Yeah," Jerome answered, impatience lacing his voice. "All we need is to dump some blond hair dye on your head and we'd have a full-on cliché on our hands."

"Fuck. You." she snipped back, drawing closer to him all the while, sending sharp looks over her shoulder at every snap and eerie night noise.

"You shouldn't curse—you're not very good at it," he chastised her with a condescending snort. "It's like listening to a librarian try to talk like a thug."

The way her gimlet glare bored into his back she was surprised he couldn't feel it. When another piercing cry broke through the silence and she reached for Jerome's arm with a gasp, he shook her off roughly with a withering look of his own. It was a sharp reminder that, despite the comradery of earlier, they were not what they once were. Hugging her arms close around her middle, feeling tiny, weak, and foolish, Sola did not reach for him again.

Her misery only intensified as they trekked on, starting to wonder why she'd even gone after him in the first place. Old hurt and resentment built up in her chest as she kept her eyes trained on Jerome's leather-clad back, remembering the many offenses and transgressions between them over the years. Of course, she had no illusions of her innocence in their disputes. She was willing to swallow her pride, admit her faults, if it meant reconciling, because Jerome was her _family_, and family was all Sola had. But Jerome seemed to like pretending their problems didn't exist every time she tried to broach the subject. Like before, he'd tease her with little glimpses of civility and friendship, and then revert back to cold and contemptuous as soon as she could blink. She despaired over ever resolving things like this. And yet Jerome seemed content to continue as they were, like their relationship was not worth salvaging, like they were _nothing_, like _she_ was nothing—

Sola was so tired of feeling like nothing.

With her helpless anger and frustration boiling in her blood, not to mention the tension that grew thicker every minute they spent trudging through the creepy woods on her grandmother's property, Sola began to feel the telltale heat of tears gathering behind her eyes. And how unfair was it that tears came to her at the drop of a hat? Jerome always mocked her when they were little for her weakness. Rationally, Sola knew tears were just a natural expression of overwhelming emotion—not a silly notion like weakness—but she detested herself for them all the same. She never seemed to run out, and they always came at the worst time.

She wished to speak—to say something, _anything_—but feared Jerome's reaction if she couldn't control her wavering voice. He'd sneer at her, she knew, and dismiss her concerns as pointless whining. So, she bit her trembling lips together and remained silent, trying to take deep breaths to compose herself as they slogged on through the brittle winter underbrush, for all the good it did her when she stepped on something sharp and thorny. Swallowing down her startled yelp, she felt nothing short of defeated, only adding to her mounting discontent.

Never had she wanted to set something on fire more than she did that very moment.

That was when they spotted the light, softly glowing through the trees ahead.

"Jerome?"

"I see it," was all he said.

Like he had a choice.

His face was flat and grim as they took in the sight in the clearing. Green light glinted in Sola's wide eyes as she took in the otherworldly vision, tinting her pale skin an ugly, brackish color under the flickering light. Her mind stalled just looking at it, wanting to explain away the phenomena as something she could understand, like the aurora borealis (in North Carolina?) or something radioactive (in which case they were inevitably fucked just by standing this close to it) but she couldn't. No, she could only describe the glowing green gash as a crack in reality. And worse, she felt there was something innately familiar about it too.

Jerome stared at it, just as transfixed as Sola was, his eyes edged with a tinge of…was that _fascination_?

"Do you hear that?" he said, voice hushed as if it might wake something up if he spoke any louder than a whisper.

And who knows? It just might.

Sola could hear many things beyond the iridescent tear in the fabric of reality—none of which she cared to investigate.

"It sounds like…a woman's voice."

Funny. To Sola, it sounded more like the howling of a strange beast.

_"Jerome,"_ she said as he started forward. With large eyes, she grasped onto his arm with both hands, not letting go when he tried to shake her this time. When he pinned her with his most disdainful sneer, she met it with firm reproach. She wouldn't shrink away this time—not on this. "You can't be serious—we have no idea what that thing is! We need to—"

_"What?"_ he snapped at her. _"We_ need to do what, Sola? Please, enlighten us with your expertise on the subject."

"I was going to say we should _call_ _someone_!" she snapped back, her old anger whipping to the fore.

"Yeah? Like who?"

"I—don't—know," she bit out, voice trembling with a fury that grew into a crescendo. She could swear she smelled something burning. "Maybe the _government_? FBI? NASA? Area 51?! I DON'T-FUCKING-KNOW!"

Jerome scoffed with an unpleasant smile unfurling across his shapely mouth.

"All out of answers, huh? I guess there's a first time for everything." He nodded to the jagged rend in the air. "Case in point." His face went blank when he looked back at her, making her stomach sink and her grip on his arm slacken. His eyes were just…empty. Indifferent. It knocked the wind straight out of her. "Go home, Sola. Call whoever you need to call. While you do that, I'm going to see what I can do to actually _help_ whoever's in there."

Traitorous tears finally made their appearance as Sola's limp hands fell away from his sleeve.

"You-you're out of your mind," she trembled out, shaking her head in disbelief.

That unbecoming smile was back on his face as he barked out a humorless laugh.

"That's ironic, coming from _you."_

Sola _flinched._

Things happened very quickly from there on out.

Above them, a tree branch cracked, and she looked up to see it plummeting towards them in flames.

There was a violent tug on the front of her pullover, and the next thing she knew, Sola was _falling,_ and all she could see was _greengreengreen_—

Sola didn't remember a landing, but when she came to in what felt like a hazy dream, Jerome was unconscious beneath her, his hand fisted tightly into the front of her hoodie.

She looked up slowly when she felt an overwhelming presence standing over them.

The thing with six eyes blinked back at her.

* * *

_So, this is another try at a DAII fic that should continue into Inquisition and beyond. (Hopefully I get it right this time). I was inspired by the horror that is the Christmas holiday. My entire family came down. I got kicked out of my bedroom. It was a mad dash effort to hide all incriminating evidence of certain...things. I swear, I've almost had an anxiety attack twice already._

_So, needless to say, a lot of the family dynamics in this fic are entirely based on real life. I've always loved how deep the relationships in DAII are, especially with Hawke's family. There's nothing black or white about any of it, and no one is perfect._

_As always, I love any sort of reader feedback. Tips, questions, suggestions and/or requests are more than welcome._

_Thank you all for reading, and have a happy holiday!_

_(And please try not to kill anyone)._

_(I know it's hard. I know)._


	2. Paradise Lost

**SCHISM**

"…I think and judge it for the best  
Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide,  
And lead thee hence through the eternal place,  
Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations,  
Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate,  
Who cry out each one for the second death…"

–Virgil, _Dante's Inferno_

* * *

**Bold**: Dreamspeak (The language Spirits speak in the fade)

_Italics_: Elvish

_**Bold Italics**_: Actual Elvish

**Chapter Two: Paradise Lost**

She wasn't sure she'd call the towering creature a wolf. It looked more like a shadow of one—featureless, intangible and yet not, like a wavering plume of dark flame. The flame was a vivid green and flickered from within the shifting tide of black shadow through six eyes that looked more like holes punched through a night sky. That, and though she'd never seen a wolf outside of nature documentaries, Sola was sure they didn't reach the size of buildings…

**"****You do not belong here."**

Sola didn't hear the words with her ears, but _inside_.

She could hear that all-consuming voice resonating in her blood, her bones, her _mind._

Though every muscle in her body felt tensed to bolt, heart racing in animal terror, Sola could _not_ move. She felt frozen to the spot, paralyzed, as she stared up at the indomitable specter before her. Its very presence bogged her down, pushing on her shoulders like a tangible weight.

"W-what…what…" Sola couldn't even begin to construct a proper question with all the misfires going off inside her brain. There was so much _wrong_ about this situation, she could only express the extent of her distress with a general, stumbling, "_What_?"

Her reedy voice was all but swallowed up by the nebulous surroundings. The entire world was engulfed in a hazy green, sepia film. Everything was a rocky, cataclysmic wasteland, complete with floating islands and—was that a floating _city_? It tugged at something in Sola's memory, but she was too preoccupied, her attention too consumed by the being towering over her, to make the connection.

**"****The Primordial Veil has been sundered…"** The creature's massive head rose to examine the rapidly sealing green cracks in the air, watching on with clinical fascination. **"Curious…"** He watched until they were no more, then ducked down to examine Sola and Jerome with an inquisitive tilt. **"Was it intent, or mere foolishness that led you to fumble through the cracks between worlds?"** When Sola opened her mouth, but no sound came out, the figure continued, **"The last trespassers to physically enter the Beyond caused quite the spot of trouble. I wonder just what trouble **_**you**_** will stir up…"**

"I…I…w-we're not—" Sola checked herself, blinked once, twice as she tried to process. "The _Beyond_?"

Again, Sola's memory _twanged_ at her.

**"****Indeed,"** the creature's 'voice' ('voices'?) rumbled in her head. **"What do your people call the Realm of Dreams?"**

With that, Sola's memory exploded like a shrapnel bomb. Her gaze drifted up to fixate on the floating black city in the distance as a heavy (ludicrous) suspicion wracked her mind.

"My grandmother called it Neverland…" she whispered.

**"****Neverland…"** the creature echoed in a musing curiosity, a humorless chuckle rattling Sola's bones. **"She was not unwise to name it such. As it is, you and your companion will not survive long in this place."** He surveyed the two of them critically, gaze pausing long on Jerome. **"He has even less time than you do."**

"Do—" Sola's voice cracked, her throat gone dry, hands fisted in Jerome's singed leather jacket. "Do you know the way out?"

The creature considered them both for another long, unnerving moment.

**"****Perhaps."**

And then he was turning away.

Sola was still for only a fraction of a second before she was shaking Jerome violently.

"Wake up!" she hissed without sympathy, slapping him, and tugging violently on his arm. "Get up! You have to move! I can't carry you!"

Jerome jerked and groaned, muttering something with his eyes only half open. Sola could see them rolling behind his eyelids, showing only the whites every now and again. She didn't know what he was seeing, but it definitely wasn't her.

"Can you hear that?" he babbled nonsense at her. "The sirens… Are they coming?"

"Yes," Sola said, hoisting his arm over her narrow shoulders. "And when they get here, they're going to gut you and use your intestines as a hat if you _don't_—_get_—_up_!"

With a mighty effort, Sola stumbled to her feet under his weight. Jerome gave another groan, and leaned on her heavily, but he tried to move his legs in some semblance of order, shuffling his feet one after another. Sola glared enviously at his boots when a rock dug into the tender sole of her foot, hauling her cousin along in the direction the creature had wandered off.

Was it a good idea to follow it? Probably not. But it was the only direction Sola had at the moment. It was lucky the beast was so large, otherwise she might have already lost him. She cast another fearful glance at the castle in the sky and felt relief that they seemed to be headed away. She had a horrible feeling when she looked at it, denial screeching in her head like a banshee.

Her heart still thudded irregularly in her chest when she caught up to the wolf. It looked down at her with his curiously cocked head. At least he didn't seem interested in hurting them, Sola thought. And shadowy, skittery, hissing things darted out of his path like he was the plague. It spoke loudly about just _what_ she was following.

"You know," she said aloud, a little breathless at the exertion. She'd lost a lot of muscle mass since her surgery. "There's this type of fish where I'm from called a remora—its name literally means 'hinderance.'" She let out a nervous laugh, readjusting Jerome's arm over her shoulder. "The remora finds the biggest fish in the pond—often a predator—and attaches itself, for scraps of food and ease of travel, but also for protection from other predators."

**"****Clever,"** the beast remarked after thinking it over, **"so long as it does not draw the attention of the host."**

"Yes," Sola agreed, feeling even more nervous with the creature's eyes on her. "They're rarely eaten by them though. The remora makes for pleasant company."

**"****Does it?"**

The inflectionless voice somehow managed to convey a reluctant sort of amusement.

"_Yes_. It does," Sola insisted, trying (and probably failing) to sound sure of herself. A beat later, flagging a little under Jerome's unsteady weight, she strained out, "So…you said you knew the way out?"

**"****Did I?"**

"You said '_perhaps_,'" Sola latched onto that word with all-too-obvious desperation. "And that means '_yes_'…right?"

_Please let it mean_ 'yes,' she begged.

The wolf pegged her with another unnerving look, six green eyes burning like ethereal flames. Then he tilted his head to survey the half-conscious Jerome.

**"****It is difficult to judge distance in the Beyond. The way you seek may be near, or it may be far,"** he said to her gravely. **"That one…will not make it far."**

_This is worse than asking the Cheshire Cat for directions_, Sola thought to herself with no small amount of hysteria.

She stumbled under Jerome's weight as he listed to one side. "They're coming…coming…"

"I…" Her eyes darted between the shadow and her cousin, indecision stretching her in two directions. Tears pricked at her eyes again, still fresh and raw from earlier. "What's wrong with him? Why…" Sola stumbled as a wave of weakness threatened to overcome her. "Why is this _happening_?"

**"****I cannot say for certain,"** the creature said, **"though my guess is that residents of your world have become intolerant to magic. It was believed to have been sealed off eons ago. That is why your arrival is so puzzling…"** He trailed off with a wolfish shake of his head. **"The Primordial Veil's mysteries are many, and elusive, even to one such as I. I've studied it in great detail. I've even created something very similar, and yet…I've never come close to replicating its power."** He eyed her closely again. **"Just now, something **_**very**_** powerful, and very old, managed to sunder it—temporarily. It drew me here…to you."**

"I…" Sola shook her head. "I didn't do this. Neither of us did!" She thought quickly. "Jerome, he—he heard a voice coming from the rift." Because it _was_ a 'rift.' Sola couldn't deny it, even though she desperately tried to. "He thought someone was in danger, but then…and we…we were arguing—there was _fire_, and he—I…"

The creature stared down at her for another long, unsettling moment.

**"****I believe you,"** he said, finally. **"I am not…unsympathetic. In a way, I am trapped here as much as you are."**

Sola looked up at him in askance, a pang of true panic spiking in her chest. "What do you mean? Do you not know the way out?"

**"****If you are asking for a way **_**back**_**, that is beyond my power."** He looked away from her shattered expression. **"As for a way **_**out**_**,"** he paused, **"whether it will lead to your salvation or your doom, I do not know."** He looked at her again. **"One thing I know for certain: If you linger here, you will die."** He paused again, eyeing Jerome. **"And if you continue on with your own 'remora'…you will only die faster."**

Even as he spoke, Sola felt another wave of weakness driving her to her knees. She could feel the truth of his words in her bones as her shins smacked the hard ground.

"I can't—" she gasped out, tears clouding her vision. "I can't leave him, he's…he's my _family_—I can't—I _can't_—" And the words came so quickly, despite everything, despite every wretched, god awful thing she and Jerome had ever done to each other over the years. "Please, help us," she begged. "_Please_, I'll do anything—"

**"****Do not speak of such promises here,"** the wolf spoke sharply, lips pulling back from impressively sharp, canid teeth in distaste. **"There are entities that would take advantage of your desperation. Even now you draw them to you. Do you not sense them watching from the shadows?"** He swung around, impossibly quick for something so large, and snapped at something with long, twitching legs and sent it skittering away. The wolf's eyes were a fiery red in his agitation, burning like coals as he cast his gaze back upon her quivering form. **"You will not last at this rate. Tell me, why should I go out of my way to help a lost cause?"**

Sola swallowed, once, twice, her form quivering as the reality pressed down upon her. The thoughts had plagued her ever since the tug of familiarity at the sight of the rift. The greenish haze over everything, the rocky, gravity defying wasteland, the Black City overlooking it all. And the evidence just kept piling up, and up, and up…

"Is this…" she asked, dreading the answer, "Are we in the Fade?"

The towering creature cocked its head at her.

**"****I do not understand that word."** He sounded frustrated. **"Not everything translates through the Dreamspeak, though I assume you refer to the Beyond—"**

"Are you Fen'harel?" Sola blurted. She had to know. She had to hear it. "Are you…_Solas_?"

His lambent visage went _still_, almost seeming to flicker to that of a man for just an instant. Then it was gone, and the great wolf was lowering his head to look her in the eye.

**"****Where do you know that name?"**

Sola swallowed again, her throat suddenly gone dry.

"Is…is it possible that things from here can bleed through to the other side of the Veil? Things like…" Here, Sola _hesitated_. "…stories?"

The wolf's gaze was _focused_.

**"…****What stories have you heard?"**

"Too many," Sola hedged, trying to remain purposely vague. She was sure he realized that. "Some with truth to them, and some without. But…" She gave him a helpless look, her voice hitching. "I don't know what's true and what's not anymore…" Her lips trembled as tears flooded her eyes, seeping slowly down her cheeks. "Is this…for real? Are you…"

She held out a quivering hand, reaching until it touched the beast's surprisingly solid muzzle.

She snatched her hand back with a gasp.

It was warm.

The wolf watched her for an extended moment, then finally said, **"I am just as real as you are."** He huffed sitting back on his haunches with an all but defeated look to his posture. **"In theory, that is… I am," **he paused here with great chagrin before admitting, **"diminished. This form…I am far from what I once was."** He sighed heavily. **"Forgive me. It has been long since anyone has beseeched the aid of the **_**Dread Wolf**_** in earnest…" **He huffed at the title in distaste.** "Longer still since anyone has guessed my name. You have earned the right to that, at least."**

"Which one?" Sola wondered.

**"****Either name will suffice." **He sounded resigned.

"I think…I like Solas better," Sola said, and with a tearful sniff and a wry ghost of a smile, she added, "My name is _Sola_, if there are to be introductions."

He let out a huff of surprise. **"Perhaps this meeting was preordained."**

The thought evoked a heavy pause.

"If you really believe that," Sola said wearily, wiping her nose and eyes messily on her sleeve, "then I think we've got an even bigger issue on our hands than a random rupture in a Veil that's historically been un-rupture-able. If this was _planned_ by someone, I have some very strong words for them."

**"****I see you now understand the true gravity of the situation you've found yourself in."** The Dread Wolf sighed once more, his form almost seeming to waver with it. **"Nothing can be ruled out at this time… Unfortunately, time is the one thing you don't have."**

"Then _help us_," Sola pled. "If even half the stories I've heard are true, maybe I can help you too! And figure this mess out while we're at it…"

**"****You? Help **_**me**_**?"**

Grim-faced, Sola said, "What have I got to lose?"

**"****That's a dangerous mindset."**

Even as he said it, Sola could see his wolf's ears standing up straight. Clearly, she had his attention. Under his careful stare, she staggered back to her feet, hauling Jerome's dead weight with her wobbling limbs.

"I just lost my whole world," she said, voice wavering with anger and untapped grief. "I'm feeling pretty fucking dangerous."

After another long, assessing look, he nodded.

**"****Good. Hold onto that feeling, da'len,"** he said,** "You will need it."**

* * *

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Jerome hissed in her ear. "Are those _elves_?"

Sola didn't look away from the large, angry group snarling at each other in another language. If she listened, she could almost…_almost_ make it out. She thought it might have been something similar to Middle English. Sola had always been fascinated by languages and had done one of her final papers in English on the original language of Beowulf—Anglo-Saxon. It had spurred her on towards further independent research—and how strange is that? Who _voluntarily_ decides to research something for the hell of it? Nerds, that's who—on how English had evolved over time. In light of that, listening to these elves bicker back and forth was _fascinating_. Sola would have been gushing with nerdish delight if not for the burgeoning suspicion the elves were arguing over whether or not to slaughter the pair of them on the spot…

They all had colorful markings lining their brows, their cheeks, their chins, their necks. Their overly bright eyes stood out too big in their faces, their cheeks, too sharp, almost like Sola herself after her dramatic weight loss. Their noses were short and flat, giving them a distinctly non-human look. Then there were the ears, of course. Dalish elves, obviously, in their handmade clothing. Many had on layered, greenish armor, and weapons strapped at their waists. Sola couldn't tear her eyes away from them.

"Those are definitely elves," Sola answered Jerome with a strange sort of distance. She was tired, exhausted really, and very close to a breaking point. Above all else, she was trying very hard _not_ to think about what had happened in the Fade.

The _fucking_ Fade.

The elves were making an inordinate amount of noise arguing with each other, some making violent gestures at the two humans with outraged expressions. An elderly elf woman with faded gold markings looked to be the only one keeping her composure, trying to calm the others down if Sola correctly read the subtext in her words and body language. It didn't appear the be working.

When one man abruptly unsheathed a dagger and started to make his way towards them, something in Sola snapped.

"_**Ar'an in'atish'enir!**_" she cried out. The words came out of nowhere, but somehow made _sense_. "_**Ir laim!**_" She tried desperately to explain as all eyes turned to her in astonishment, gesturing to herself and Jerome. "_**Halani lasa! Enaste lasa!**_"

What came out of her mouth afterwards, Sola could not recall, as she promptly burst into tears. She wasn't sure if her babbled stream of elvish made sense to anyone, even herself. What she could comprehend of her own speech was pure, raw feeling transformed into spoken word. There was plenty of 'I'm so sorry' and 'please don't kill us' articulated somewhere in the mess of broken, chaotic syllables. And though the elves looked patently bewildered by all of it, pleas for mercy were rarely mistaken in any language.

Jerome looked just as bewildered, and slightly betrayed.

"You _understand_ these people?" he demanded as the elves once again broke out in heated debate. At least there were no more knives out. That thought was less comforting when there could be any number of arrows pointed at them unseen.

"Yes?" Sola sniffed. "No? I don't know!"

"You either do, or you don't!" Jerome drilled her, "What language were you just speaking? _When_ did you learn another language?"

"I don't _know_!" Sola said again, shaking her head. "I-I think it's Elvish."

"You _think_, or you _know_?" He looked about five seconds away from shaking her.

"Again, _when_ did you learn to speak _Elf_?"

"I don't know, _I don't-fucking-know_!" she cried, her voice squeaking as she buried her hands in her hair, tugging in pure defeat. She looked up at him suddenly. "This is _your_ fault."

"What?!" He flinched back at the unexpected barb.

Sola wasn't one to point fingers. Not because she didn't want to, but because, as a rule, the opposition was heavily armed against her—she was habitually smashed in the arena of family arguments. It was easier to agree with them and blame herself, even if it wasn't her fault.

But not this time.

No fucking way.

"You just _had _follow the creepy noise into the woods, didn't you!?" Sola fumed, wiping her salt-roughened face. She was sure she had tracks down her cheeks at this point. Deep down, she knew her anger was irrational, and that assigning blame did them little good at this point, but she was on the edge of hysteria as it was. "You just _had_ to drag us through a god-damned _rift_—and you call _me_ crazy!"

Jerome's eyes flashed with danger, and Sola yelped as he grabbed her by the front of her hoodie, his face uncomfortably close as he hissed, "I saved your worthless life! If you want to blame someone, take a look in the mirror—last time I checked, I can't set things on fire with my mind!"

"What the hell are you _talking about_?" Sola jerked back, grasping his hard fist and trying to detach it from her jacket. "_I'm_ the one who saved _you_! I hauled your fugly ass for miles in the fucking _FADE_!"

"The Fade? A rift? What are _you_ talking about?" Thwarting her efforts to free her shirt, he shook her a little in his iron grasp. "Do you, or do you not, know what's happening here? Tell me why we're surrounded by _angry-fucking-elves_, Sola!"

Jerome was starting to sound a little hysterical himself.

And unlike Sola, who just ended up a pathetic mess when she lost her cool, Jerome could do some serious damage if pressed.

Someone had to keep their head in this situation, and Sola knew she was the better option. With great effort, and a deep breath, she forced down her panic and resentment.

She decided to answer his questions in order.

"The Fade is a realm your mind goes to when you dream," she explained solemnly. "But it's _not really_ a dream. You and I…we fell through that rift—the green tear in reality in the middle of the creepy-ass-woods?—and ended up _physically_ in the Fade. You didn't take well to it. I had to drag you out before it killed you." She frowned ruefully. "If I didn't have help, we'd have both wound up dead—or worse. Demons live in the Fade. If a deal with one of them goes wrong—and they nearly always do—it can possess you and turn you into an abomination."

Jerome's grip on her hoodie faltered, slowly loosening until it finally fell away. "You're not shitting me…?"

Sola shook her head.

Jerome watched her with reassessing eyes.

"How…how did you get us out?" He frowned heavily. "You didn't have to make a deal, did you?"

"Not with any demons…" Sola assured him with another shake of her head, searching and failing to find ways to explain the fuckery that happened in the Fade in a short, succinct manner. "Look, we've got bigger problems right now—we don't have time for this—"

"Right. Are you going to tell me how elves are a thing?" His voice carried a demand in it that had Sola wincing.

"This is Thedas," she said slowly. "They have elves here. These elves are Dalish. They don't like humans."

"Thedas… Dalish… That sounds familiar."

"It should," she told him, watching as the old woman, whom Sola suspected was this clan's Keeper, quieted the angry mob and walked towards them. "You're not going to like why."

The Keeper stopped before them and addressed her with solemn green eyes.

"_Where you come, Child_?"

The Elvhen words were fragmented—corrupted from Sola's limited (and alarming) understanding. But she _did_ understand. (That was the alarming part).

"What did she just say to you?" Jerome demanded.

"She…I think she wants to know where we came from," Sola whispered.

Jerome frowned.

"Lie."

Sola sent him a horrified look. "You want me to lie to the people with arrows trained on us?"

"Why not?" He returned her look with a snide one of his own. "You've been lying since you were still in diapers."

Sola winced and shook her head.

"Can we _not_ do this right now? Fuck you, Jerome. I'm not lying to a god-damned Dalish Keeper, she'll _know_—_**ir abelas**_**, **_**Hahren**_**,**" she apologized to the Keeper, her brain reaching for common words that they could both understand. "_We are from…beyond the Beyond_. _The path home is lost to us now. We do not know the way back._" She bowed her head in deference. "_We humbly_ _ask for your mercy._"

_Beyond the Beyond_, the Keeper mouthed. Her large eyes edged even wider, and those others in the clan with a grasp of Elvhen exchanged nervous, alarmed looks. Sola felt instant regret at her candidness. What if they thought they were demons?

"Great. I can see them mentally gathering the wood for our pyres as we speak," Jerome hissed at her. "Nice work, Sunny. Now's a wonderful time for you to decide for more honesty in your life."

"Where do you get off criticizing me?" she hissed back. "How about you get off your high-fucking-horse, and _help me_?"

"How in the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"Some _support_ would be nice," Sola grated out between her teeth. "Either back me up or _shut the hell up_!"

Surprisingly, he did just that.

Because that was when Merrill charged through the crowd.

Because of course it was Merrill.

Who else would have a defective Eluvian lying around just waiting to eject two random humans?

Merrill, that's who!

Who _doesn't_ love Merrill?

That would be the majority of the Sabrae clan, apparently.

They parted like the red sea, some bodily throwing themselves away from her, hissing angrily and spitting insults in her wake. Her face crumpled mournfully before she steeled herself, continuing on with a feigned confidence in her step. She kept a stiff upper lip as she strode up to the keeper, her back to Sola and Jerome in what might have been a protective move. Because of course, Merrill would advocate for 'demons.' She'd protect just about anything that came out of that mirror, Sola thought, whether it was friendly or not.

In this case, Sola was not inclined to protest Merrill's dubious grasp on ethics.

"Who is _that_…?" Jerome asked, his voice oddly quiet.

"Merrill," Sola answered a little too loudly without looking away from the blood mage.

Said blood mage, who had been discussing something furiously with the Keeper, shot Sola an astonished look over her shoulder, her lips a perfect 'oh.' Sola quietly cursed herself as the Keeper's eyes grew even more wary. Merrill, in contrast, looked utterly _thrilled_…

She spun around and hurriedly knelt before Sola with what must have been the friendliest face she'd ever seen on an elf. Tilting her head in a somewhat birdlike fashion, Merrill asked, "_You know me, Spirit_?"

Time to nip that in the bud right-the-fuck-now.

"_**Tel'elgar. Ar Shemlen**__—_" she gestured firmly to her-_very-much-a-human-not-a-spirt-or-demon-thank-you-very-much_-self "—Sola—" then "—Jerome—" she pointed to him next "—_**ma**_**'**_**lethal**_."

_My family_.

Such as it was.

Merrill _beamed_ at them.

"_**Aneth'ara, Sola,**_" she spoke slowly and clearly as if Sola was mentally challenged, but Sola couldn't bring herself to hold it against her. "_**Aneth'ara, Jer-Jero…**_"

"Just 'Jer' is fine," Jerome said, waving off her stumbling attempt at his name. "Don't hurt yourself." In return, he offered her a charming smile and made his own fumbling try of, "An-ith-eria, Merrill."

Sola had to cover her eyes for a moment from sheer embarrassment.

Was he actually trying to _flirt_ with her?

Thank God, the Maker, and the Creators Merrill was naturally oblivious.

"That was absolutely horrendous," she told Jerome, then ignoring his affronted expression, addressed Merrill apologetically, "_Forgive him._ _He does not speak the words of the People_."

"_You__ speak the words of the people._" And this, it seemed, was the selling point for Merrill. She gestured ecstatically between herself and Jerome. "_You teach?_"

Sola looked Merrill dead in the eye.

Then she told her, "_I will teach you everything_."

Merrill looked from her to the Keeper with the largest, _shiniest_ eyes Sola had ever seen on an elf. Keeper Marethari took in the three of them with the gravest, most _defeated_ look Sola had ever seen on an elf. In that moment, Sola wasn't sure who she felt sorrier for—Marethari, or herself. And then she remembered she was a naturally selfish person and chose herself, of course. If it meant having Merrill on her side in the face of a bunch of angry elves, Sola would teach the blood mage anything she damn-well asked her to—no questions asked.

Marethari let out a long, heavy sigh, and pointed to a large aravel not far away. She spoke a few words, and though Sola did not understand, she interpreted it as, "Get out of my sight before I change my mind."

Merrill turned back to Sola with her shiny, oh-so-hopeful grin, and helped her to her feet with an alarming amount of enthusiasm. Jerome was up next, and Merrill, with one of their hands held captive in either of hers, cheerfully trotted off through her angry clanmates with the two of them in tow.

"Is this a good thing?" Jerome asked her, looking bemused at the sprightly elf and their joined hands. "This seems like a good thing."

"That depends on your definition of _good_…" Sola muttered as they passed by a very large pile of very dead halla. "The clan is angry because of _that_. I think the eluvian backfired when we came out of it. It's a miracle we're still alive, honestly." She wanted to blame Solas, but he'd just as good as told her he had no idea where the eluvian would take them. It was a move of desperation, a longshot, and Sola had known the risk when she'd taken it. Her stomach squirmed at a sudden insight. "God-shit-balls, I'd know it if we had the Blight, wouldn't I?"

"That doesn't sound good… Wait a second," Jerome said, "where have I heard that before? The Blight…the Blight…"

"Don't think about it too hard," Sola urged him, _not_ looking forward to this conversation. "If you don't remember, you'll be happier that way."

"You're telling me to stick my head in the sand, is that it?" He frowned at her.

"I'm telling you to Let. Sleeping. Dogs. _Lie_," she said to him with a sharp look. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm barely holding my shit together here. I can't deal with you losing your shit on top of it."

Jerome shook his head at her.

"How do you _know_ about all of this stuff? Elves, that Fade bullshit—_demons_—I mean, what the fuck, Sunny?"

"You don't want to know," Sola said emphatically.

"I _do_ want to know, otherwise I wouldn't be asking." His voice was tight with a growing frustration that meant trouble for her.

Squaring her jaw, Sola focused on putting one bare foot in front of the other.

"Promise not to lose your shit?"

Jerome scoffed.

"I'm a fucking Marine, Sunny. We're _trained_ not to lose our shit."

"Two words," she said, still unable to bring herself to look at him. Her lips barely moved. "Dragon. Age."

For a moment, Sola was sure Jerome only moved because of Merrill's excited tugging.

He blinked several times as it all came back to him in a rush, then said, "Fuck me."

"No thanks," Sola quipped inappropriately. "That would be incest. And incest is _bad_. So is swooping."

"Fuck _you_!" he retorted.

"Also incest," she pointed out. "Why don't you ask Merrill? She seems down."

"No way—is she _that_ Merrill? From the Elf origin?" Merrill smiled at him when he said her name. "She looks so different from the game—"

"You only played Origins that one time, so yeah. There was a bit of an overhaul in the second game, as you can see—" she nodded to Merrill with a forced smile, so glad she couldn't understand a single word coming out of her mouth. "And what's more than all the extra details, like the braids, the face, the clothes, and everything else? There's the fact that this is _not_ a fucking game, Jer."

"I didn't even know they made a second game…" he mused, still staring at Merrill.

"Yeah. You were more into Dark Souls, right?" Sola remembered. "Less story, more challenge. That was your thing." She shook her head. "Once again, in case it wasn't a hundred percent clear, this is not a game—this is real life." Side-eyeing him, she said, "Happy you asked?"

"_Fuck_," Jerome said again.

"Yeah." Sola sighed. "That was my reaction too."

* * *

_This chapter was a bitch to get out. It didn't want to work with me at all, but I think we ended on a high note. Sort of. Hopefully the next chapter will come easier now._

_If it seems like there was a big gap between being in the Fade and being in Thedas, that's deliberate. We're going to revisit some of the fuckery that happened in the Fade in later chapters. Sola's not even a hundred percent sure what happened there. Neither is Solas. He's at about seventy percent, where Sola is at twenty. We've still got a million questions unanswered, but there was no way we were going to get to all of them in this chapter, sadly. We'll just leave it at that for now._

_Credit for Elvish goes to FenxShiral!_

_Ar'an in'atish'enir - We come in peace  
__Ir laim - We're very lost  
__Helani lasa - Give us your help  
__Enaste lasa - Give us your favor  
__Ir abelas, Hahren - So sorry, Elder/Keeper  
__Tel'elgar. Ar Shemlen - Not a spirit. I'm Human  
__Ma'lethal - My family  
__Aneth'ara - Greetings/well met_

_Thanks for reading!  
__I'd love to hear what you think!_


End file.
